


On the Far Shore

by Clocketpatch



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Marriage, Multi, Post Gauda Prime, Pre-Canon, Reunions, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is needed but good company</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Far Shore

**Author's Note:**

> For the Trope Bingo square: _Reunion_

A gentle morning breeze blew down from the mountains. It tousled the heavy seed heads of the grain crop and tugged at the long, dark robes of the man surveying them. Gan stood on a small rise at the edge of his property looking down on the fields. Harvest would be difficult; it was only him and Lyssa to do the work these days. Gan missed the liveliness of harvest back when they'd lived on the collective and the entire community had come out to work and sweat and sing together until the labour was done.

Overhead, a few four-winged furaha sang out their mating calls. The orangey-gold of the barloat contrasted against a startlingly blue sky. An artistic line of smoke curled away from the chimney stack of Gan and Lyssa's homestead. Gan stood with his feet firmly planted on good, fertile earth. The smoothed and oiled wood of his scythe felt good against his callused palm. A day of honest work on his own land stretched ahead of him. There were things he missed from the past and others which he did not, but the present was steeped in more than enough honest joy and pride to make up for both.

Gan smiled at the sky and began his walk down the hill.

 

* * *

 

"Should we get a harvester, Ol?" Lyssa asked.

 Gan and his wife worked side by side in the fields. The sun shone high overhead; warm, but not oppressive. Lyssa had tied her dark hair back with a piece of hand spun yarn. The bun had been tight to start, but now fly-aways haloed her face. The light sheen of perspiration across her broad features only made her more attractive. Chaff and small flecks of dirt decorated her skin and clothes.

 "Be easier," Gan said, swinging his scythe to shear the grain. Lyssa efficiently gathered the cut-down stalks into bundles and stacked them ready to bring to the threshing grounds later on. More furaha had appeared in the sky, circling and calling as they waited to feast on the loosened grains which would inevitably be left behind.

 "It would make life harder for them," Lyssa said, nodding her chin towards the scavengers. The furaha's multi-coloured wings flashed like a rainbow through a prism as the flock oscillated above their heads. "And all that noise; we wouldn't be able to hear them singing."

 Lyssa loved watching the furaha dance through the air and listening to their complex melodies. On the collective they'd always been drowned out by motors and machines. Even when one did manage to find a quiet place to sing it would only have a moment to chirp before being shooed away by a storm of thrown rocks.

 Gan wiped the sweat from his own brow. There was a dull, good ache in his arms and down his sides from the twisting motion of swinging the scythe. He wasn't tired. Nature had blessed him with strength and fortitude. Lyssa, at six feet tall and with shoulders nearly as broad as Gan's, had been equally favoured.

 "Be a lot of money for the fuel," Gan said. "Not that we can't afford it."

 "Yes." Lyssa continued watching the swooping and diving of the furaha. "Can they?"

 "Maybe they can't," Gan said.

 Lyssa nodded firmly and they both went back to work.

 

* * *

 

They broke for lunch alongside the narrow stream which supplied their property with water. A jumble of flat, blue-grey rocks, warmed by the sun and padded with moss, served as both table and chairs. They ate buttery barloat bread still warm from the oven; crumbly, herb-infused cheese; and tiny seedless oranges. All was washed down with cool, refreshing water from the stream.

Gan peeled his oranges, but didn't section them before popping them into his mouth. Lyssa delicately drew hers apart into fingernail-sized pieces to share with a timid furaha fledgling. The bright-eyed little creature perched nervously on her thumb and pecked the offered food from the centre of her palm. Lyssa grinned and Gan smiled back.

"Greetings!"

The sudden shout startled the furaha. It erupted from Lyssa's hand in a burst of kaleidoscope feathers.

A tall, dark-skinned stranger stood on the other side of the stream. He wore an expensive-looking beige suit with green trim and shoulder pads. The suit was well-tailored, but the man looked uncomfortable in it and no amount of tailoring could fix that.

"Oleg Gan and Lyssa Gan," the stranger said, "You have been difficult to locate."

"What do you want?" asked Lyssa. Gan could tell that she was nervous of this sleek, well-dressed stranger – and angry with him, also, for startling the furaha. Gan put an arm around her shoulder.

The man hesitated for a moment at Lyssa's question, before replying; "to help with the harvest."

"We don't need help," said Lyssa.

"This is a true statement, but help is still offered," the man said, holding his hand out over the water. His fingers were the long, smooth fingers of a man unused to manual work.

Gan looked at his wife to see her reaction. "Better this than a harvester," she said eventually.

"Accepted," said Gan, grasping the man's hand and helping him to step across the stream.

Lyssa pulled an extra loaf from the picnic basket. The man took it, and then held the bread awkwardly as if he were unsure of its purpose. Probably he was used to pill-form Federation food and had never seen real bread before.

Gan demonstrated to the man how to split the loaf and make a rough sandwich with the cheese. The stranger's first bites were accompanied by a look of absolute confusion and delight. The shy, young furaha returned to perch on the man's shoulder.

"What's your name?" Gan asked.

"Many names have been applied," said the man.

"That's not an answer," said Lyssa.

"No. Answers are nearly as difficult as questions. One name is Djzen."

"Do you know anything about harvesting, Djzen?" Gan asked.

Djzen took a thoughtful bite of barloat bread and cheese. He chewed meditatively for a moment. "Theoretical wisdom is easily gathered, but practical experience is more valuable. Can you teach, Gan and Gan?"

 

* * *

 

Gan owned only one scythe; Djzen assisted Lyssa with bundling the harvest.

Days passed in the steady rhythm of harvest. Every night, Djzen would spend time sitting naked by the stream washing and repairing his expensive suit. Every morning he would set out to the fields with Gan and his wife looking immaculate.

"Why did you come here?" Gan asked Djzen one night by the stream. Light from the fire Gan had lit reflected off the smooth planes of Djzen's body. Gan was also nude. The itchy chaff invaded every crease of one's clothing during harvest. Gan and his wife did not wash their clothing in the stream every night as Djzen did, but both of them stripped and shook out their robes every evening.

"To help," Djzen said, as he always did.  

 Gan fed a few twigs to the fire. "The harvest is nearly finished."

 "That is a statement?"

 "Will you stay, Djzen?"

 The man was quiet. The stream burbled. The fire snapped and popped.

 "Lyssa wouldn't mind if you stayed. It's your own business if you do or don't, and if you don't I wouldn't pry into your reasons. It has been useful having the extra set of arms, and there's that smithy set-up we discussed."

 "The ability to repair your own tools is integral to your continued self-sufficiency," Djzen said.

 "Is that yes? You should use simpler words, Djzen. You don't need to act all fancy and aloof here. Besides, you know as well I do that nothing is needed now but good company."

 Djzen looked up from his washing to gaze longingly at the star-spangled sky.

 "Confirmed."

 

* * *

 

More days passed and the breeze down from the mountains turned cold. Snow fell, but the harvest was safely stowed and the inside of the Gan homestead was full of warmth and cheer. Gan, Lyssa, and Djzen drew up plans together for the out-building and forge they would construct in the spring after planting.

"Are you lonely?" Lyssa asked Djzen. They sat cross-legged on pillows in front of the hearth playing cards. Gan was asleep in his favoured chair with a half-completed quilt draped over his knee.

"Loneliness does not apply," said Djzen, laying down an Ace to take Lyssa's low Jack.

"Ol says you're not like us. You're not Federation. You're not Unaligned. He won't say where you're from, but he knows. It's not like him to keep secrets." Lyssa added a Queen and a King to the formation. "You fell for that."

"Confirmed." Djzen picked up from the bottom of the discard pile.

"Will you tell me where you're from? You need to draw two; it was a run."

Djzen stoically added another card to his hand. "An individual's background may shape their future, but it is not inevitable that it will determine it. Oleg Gan is a good example of this."

Lyssa sighed. "You use too many words, Djzen."

 

* * *

 

Djzen stood in the snow. He wore only his beige and green suit. He looked more comfortable in it than he had when he had first arrived. He did not look cold. His breath did not form a white cloud in the crisp air as Gan's did.

"It's a bad time of year for travel," Gan said.

"The weather is immaterial and localized," said Djzen.

"Lyssa packed you a basket."

"Food is not necessary."

 "No," Gan agreed, "but it is pleasant."

 "Confirmed."

 "Safe travels, Zen."

 

* * *

 

The next year, at harvest, Djzen returned, but not alone. He arrived accompanied by two women – old friends of Gan – Cally of Auron, and Jenna Stannis the Smuggler Queen.

The women could not stay long; they had their own business and families to attend to, but it was a glorious reunion and many pairs of hands made light work. Lyssa's parents and brother stopped by, further easing the load.

When night fell they lit a bonfire beside the stream and danced and sang and talked together for a night which lasted exactly as long as they desired.

"I was afraid I would be alone," Cally admitted to Lyssa as the flames burnt to soft, forgiving embers. "But it hasn't been like that at all. All of my brothers and sisters and kin were waiting. I am the least lonely I have ever been."

"Loneliness doesn't bother me," Jenna said. "I can fly here like I never could before; like I always wanted to. I want to try one of those bird-creatures you have here tomorrow."

"Furaha," Lyssa said.

"Yes, four wings! The way they turn is breath-taking. And Djzen told me that he's wanted to go back to the stars, but he had no one to share it with until now. We could be a team again."

"How was it for you?" Cally asked Lyssa.

Lyssa looked into the darkness behind the dying fire. "I was lonely for a long time after it happened. I was one of the first in my family to go. For a long time, there was nothing but grey fog. It wasn't bad, but –" She shook her head and continued:  "When my parents arrived, I was sad. Of course I was sad, but happy as well. My brother – he is very young, you know, I wish he'd had more time, but I was glad too because…"

"Because it was not always pleasant," Cally said.

"Ol wasn't always pleasant either," Lyssa continued. "I was nervous when he came. He was moody when we were together. He was always good to me, and good to my brother, but he would argue with my parents, and he would leave sometimes for days at a time. He always came back sober, but I knew he wasn't when he was gone. He was too big for the life assigned to him. That's all there was to it. We both were."

"That is surprising to me," Jenna said. "He always came across as very gentle and unargumentative, except for that one time when –"

"His mind was in turmoil from it," Cally interrupted.

Jenna looked sideways at her. "You always told us you didn't receive."

"Would you have trusted me if you'd known?"

 "Given how much trust was on that ship, I doubt that it would have made much difference."

 They sat without talking for a while, reflectively sipping at mugs filled with hot, homebrewed cider. Lyssa's brother snored quietly where he'd fallen asleep; his small face peaceful in the reflected light of the embers. Lyssa's parents had gone off with Gan and Djzen for a demonstration of the forge.

 "Ol was the one driving when the accident happened," Lyssa said, breaking the quiet. "He blamed himself, but he took out his anger on the other driver. I don't know what the Federation did to him as punishment, but it is maybe the one thing I will ever be grateful to them for. He never had peace when we were together. I doubt he would have found peace here, either, if the Federation hadn't forced him to learn the value of it."

 

* * *

 

Another winter passed. Djzen came and went, splitting his time between the Gans and Jenna. Gan and Lyssa worked on various projects, went skating on the frozen stream, and had long, slow love-making sessions in front of the hearth.

Gan was working the bellows in the forge one day with Djzen hammering tools on the anvil, when Djzen suddenly stopped. "There is a stranger in proximity."

Gan followed him out of the forge. Sweat steamed off his bare chest in the chill air. "Where?"

Djzen pointed. Gan squinted against the glare off the snow. A man was approaching; a thin, older man with stark white hair who stumbled in the drifts and shivered against the chill. Gan ran forward to meet him. Djzen stayed behind by the forge.

The stranger shivered even harder at Gan's approach.

"Are you alright?" Gan asked, catching him under the arm. The man was pale and thin. His ungloved hands trembled violently.

"I do apologize for this unwarranted intrusion," the man said, shrinking away from Gan's touch, "but I was uncertain where to go and there was a light in your window."

"There's no need," said Gan. "Come with me, we'll get you warm. Djzen! Tell Lyssa we have a visitor!"

"He is not to be trusted," said Djzen.

"Neither were you, half the time," said Gan. "Neither was I."

Djzen didn't respond, but did walk away from the forge to the homestead. By the time Gan got the strange visitor inside, Lyssa had a pot of tea on and a pile of blankets waiting.

"This one is unworthy for such noble treatment," the stranger said as Lyssa clucked her tongue and tucked him up in the quilt Gan had finally finished that autumn.

"This one agrees," said Djzen.

"What is your name?" Lyssa asked.

"I humbly regret to inform you that I do not possess one. You may, should you wish, refer to me as Slave, Mistress."

Djzen snorted. Lyssa glared at him, before turning a tender face back to the stranger. "I should not wish to refer to anyone that way."

"As you please, Mistress."

"It doesn't know either of you and it isn't even a proper intelligence," Djzen said. "It has no place here."

Gan crossed his arms. "No, Djzen. _Everyone_ has a place here."

"I sincerely hope that you speak the truth, Master, because others will be arriving. Soon."

"And who's fault is that?" asked Djzen.

"I did my modest best to see them safely to ground," said the man, "but my circuits were not meant for such complexities and my shell was weak in comparison to your grandeur."

Djzen turned to face the window. His shoulders were stiff with tension.

The man continued speaking. His voice was soft and no longer wheedling. "They were not my crew, but I cared for them. I know you did the same."

 

* * *

 

"Do you think it counts?" Tarrent asked, bouncing nervously from foot to foot. He looked like a six-foot penguin clown in his tux.

"What?" asked Blake from the mirror where he was making a poor attempt at adjusting his bow tie.

"This, all of it. If we're both dead then does getting married count?"

"I'm conducting the service," Blake said. "I say it counts."

"Ship's captain says it counts," Vila said, taking a long pull of champagne straight from the bottle. "And the Ships' said the same before they snuck off with Gan. And even if it doesn't count, I say it's worth going through on the strength of the food and the bar and the dancing. Do you think Soolin will dance with me?"

"I wouldn't bank on it," said Blake, abandoning the bow tie to mediocrity and confiscating Vila's drink. "Do try to be sober for the ceremony."

"That's unfair," said Vila. "It's not like it has any effect unless I want it to."

"You're the best man," said Blake. "You should respect that position, whatever the extenuating circumstances."

"What if I forget my lines?" moaned Tarrant.

Gan entered the room then, along with Djzen and the thin old man who had been renamed Eurysaces. Eurysaces still bowed compulsively when passing through doors, but it wasn't brought up unless someone was feeling particularly cross. Gan carried a small, intricately-designed metal box.

"From us," Gan said to Tarrant, handing the box to Blake. "But what's inside was made by Lyssa, with love."

Blake slipped the box into an inner pocket. Gan went to stand beside the nervous groom. He didn't know Tarrant or his bride well, but he knew the giddy nervousness that came with the occasion.

"You'll do fine. All you need to do is remember how to breathe and everything else will come naturally."

 

* * *

 

The cathedral where Del Tarrant and Dayna Mellanby were married had been burned and demolished by the nascent Federation in the waning days of the First Calendar. The ceiling was a high arch of criss-crossing stone buttresses. Light streamed onto the altar from dozens of stained-glass windows, one of which looked suspiciously like Zen's fascia reference point.

"You are beautiful," Hal Mellanby told his daughter before walking her down the aisle. Dayna wore a short, one-shouldered dress of white cotton. Lauren, Soolin, and Cally were resplendent in their blue and burgundy bride's maid outfits. Vila looked ridiculous in his gold lame suit. Several children - Lyssa's brother, Soolin's diminutive siblings, and an assortment of young Auronar - patrolled the nave with precocious dignity, leaving confetti and flower petals in their wake.

Tarrant flashed the most unselfconscious of dorky grins towards his approaching bride, the guests, Blake, his best man, and everyone else within eye-shot of his teeth. Dayna's mother cried through the entire service, as did Deeta Tarrant – though he hid it by flipping through the wedding programme.

At the climax, when Blake opened the little metal box to take out the ribbon for tying the newlyweds together, Tarrant didn't forget a single vow.

He did forget the kiss, but Dayna took the lead and if anyone in the audience noticed then they didn't mention it later.

 

* * *

 

When Servalan showed up at the reception, Gan quickly rescinded his words that _everyone_ was welcome.

"Strangely enough, I am happy to see you," said Dayna. "I hope it was painful and humiliating."

"It was both and neither," said Servalan with a grin like a shark. "Do you like my dress?"

"It's generally considered rude to wear white to a wedding not your own," said Dayna.

"It's also rude to show up uninvited," said Tarrant.

Servalan cut herself a slice from the cake Eurysaces had baked for the occasion. "Primitive bonding ceremonies and their associated rituals were not a point of interest to Federation officials. I'm afraid that I am unaware of any arcane rules regarding colour choice. In any event, does it matter? I doubt this counts as a legal union considering that –"

"Go to hell," Dayna said.

They never decided if it was Dayna's words, the hand of a Higher Power, the justice of the afterlife, or something even more mysterious, but before Servalan could complete her damnation of Del and Dayna's marriage a void formed out of the air around her and the former ex-President of the Federation fell backwards into a black, smoking pit. The crack snapped shut an instant later and her screams were cut off, leaving an uneasy silence in their wake.

 

* * *

 

Days passed into months passed into years. No one grew any older. The ersatz rebels who had been thrown together by fate under the flag of Blake didn't always stay together. They drifted and explored and established homes/castles/spaceships of their own. But when they did, inevitably, come back together it was usually on Gan's farm.

"Do you ever think about what's happening back in the _real_ world?" Blake asked during one reunion. "About how the rebellion is getting on without us?"

The ex-freedom fighters sat on the mossy rocks beside the stream lazily working their way through a lunch picnic. A family of furaha perched in a tree nearby, providing a pleasant background melody to their conversation.

"It seems a bit pointless," said Cally. "But I do sometimes wonder how the children on Khan are doing. Eventually, they will arrive here to let us know. I hope it is many years before that happens, but I wonder."

"As far as I'm concerned, this is the real world," said Vila, helping himself to a fifth serving of grapes and cheese.

"I agree," said Soolin. "Whatever that place was where we were before, it can go and rot for all I care."

"Cheers to that!" said Tarrant, raising a mug of cider. Dayna clinked her own cup against his with a grin.

"Metaphysically, it makes no difference whether one wonders or not about outside happenings," said Djzen. "The information is not available now, but will become available in the future. We have no influence over the course of events, and logically there is no point in worrying."

"Not unless you've got someone still in hell," said Gan.

"But we're all here," said Jenna. "All of us, and our families, and more friends each year."

"I regret to inform you that you are wrong," Eurysaces said. "There is one member of your group who remains absent."

Blake gazed across the stream towards the distant mountains. The perpetual breeze coming down off them ruffled his curls. "I'm never certain whether I should thank him or hate him for our last meeting."

"Do you think he's still alive?" Vila asked.

"Either that, or he's gone the way of the White Witch," said Tarrant. "Knowing _him_ either possibility is likely."

"Those are unkind words, Tarrant," Cally said.

"But true." Tarrant reclined into a more comfortable position on his rock. "You should know that as well as any of us."

"Do you think that the rat in a box will ever show up?" Vila asked. He tilted his head to the side. "That makes two though, Eury? Does that mean one of them is here already?"

Dayna strummed half-heatedly at her lyre. "He's not going to count the plastic fusspot. It's like how Djzen won't admit that Eurysaces exists half the time. Anyway, I doubt he'd be willing to believe in an afterlife. Not logical enough. He'd probably will himself out of existence through sheer stubbornness."

"Then again," Jenna offered. "Given the voice he chose to use, he might find it an easier concept to get used to than most of us did. As mind-boggling as that may be."

Vila topped off his mug with fresh cider. "You know, I do miss them. We had some good times together. The casino on Space City; that was a laugh. He was probably the closest thing I ever had to a friend. Not the _him_ he was at the end, but back when we were all on the Liberator together. The glory days. Sorry, Eury."

"I accept your apology with much gratitude for your understanding regarding my short-comings."

"I hope he's happy," said Gan. "Wherever he is."

Vila snorted. "Him? Not likely. He was his happiest when he had something to complain about."

"No, that was you," said Soolin.

"Argue about, then. Avon and happiness weren't –" Vila stopped, realizing too late that he'd broken the unsaid taboo against naming the living. Everyone was staring at him. "Sorry," he mumbled, and then raised his mug high into the air. "But cheers?"

"Cheers," said Tarrant. "Even if he _was_ a prat."

"To absent friends," said Gan.

"To comrades in battle," said Cally.

"And to forgiveness," added Blake.

Ten mugs of cider clinked together.

 

 

 


End file.
